


172 - Van Saves the Day When Reader's Boyf Cheats

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Hero Van, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “the reader is good friends with the lids, and has always had a crush on van. but she’s had a boyfriend for a few years and ends up finding out she’s cheating on him. she’s devastated but also kind of relieved because she knows deep down she loves van. maybe she goes to a party and gets super drunk cuz she’s upset and then van comes and picks her up?” and “can you write something about van playing around with snapchat filters on your phone”





	172 - Van Saves the Day When Reader's Boyf Cheats

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not 100% sure if the request meant Reader or her boyfriend were the one cheating, so I’m going to go with her boyfriend was.

The phone dropped to the concrete sidewalk for the second time and the screen cracked. You stared down at it crying harder before picking it up. You could hear Anthony's voice somewhere in the distance yelling after you. Running from the bar was easy. The people out front laughed as you legged it but you didn't care. Drunk and upset and confused and lost, you didn't fucking care. 

You dialled the next person in your list of friends. She didn't answer either. That was four people. Four people that had better things to do than take your hysterical calls at… What was the time? You checked. Only a little past midnight! On a Saturday! Surely they weren't asleep. Maybe they were in a club. 

You looked down the street and pulled your jacket around you tighter. It was cold and you didn't really know the area of the city. You crouched down and rested your back against the brick wall you'd stopped at. 

You knew what you wanted, who you wanted. Had you said his name out loud or were you just listening to your internal monologue? He was always on your mind, no matter how hard you tried to repress the feelings. You had done a pretty great job at convincing yourself it was just a little crush, that you were just all caught up in how cool a boy in a band was, but when that bright shiny new friend glow dulled and he was just your mate, the crush didn't die. 

"Okay," you whispered to yourself. You'd said something out loud and that was meant you were calm enough to call him. It was drunk logic. Cute but flawed. His phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then, he picked up with a cheery hello. "Van?" you whispered.

"Y/N? Babe. What's up? What's happened?"

"Um…" But there was only tears and hysterical sobs. Van tried to calm you down but even his voice wasn't enough.

"Y/N. Where are you? Where's Anthony? Should I call him for you?"

"No!" you cried, stretching the word out longer than needed. "He's a fuck!"

"Okay. No Anthony. Got it. What did he do? Did he hurt you? Love, where are you?" There were too many questions, so you couldn't answer any of them. You cried for a little longer and Van sighed a couple of times but was patient. When the sobbing stopped, he tried again. "Where are you, Y/N?" You said you didn't know but explained you were at the bar and had run. "Alright. Just… Don't move, yeah? Stay where you are and I'll find you."

Like he was born with a homing beacon for you, Van found you in twenty minutes. He came walking around the corner. Your legs were pulled up to your chest and your head was hanging. The crying had stopped but you were sniffling and shaking. Van crouched down in front of you. He leant out and put a hand on your knee. You looked up.

"Van," you whispered and felt the beginning of a new wave of tears.

"Hey. What's happened? Come on. You'll catch a fuckin' death sitting here," he said as he helped you stand. He put an arm around your shoulders and led you back to where he'd parked. It was close to the bar and you'd not thought about that. Anthony was still walking the streets, looking for you.

"Hey! Y/N!" he yelled when he spotted you.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Van asked you. You shook your head. "Okay. In," he directed. You got into the front passenger seat and locked the door. Van stepped back as Anthony threw himself against the car door. He knocked on the window hard and you stared straight ahead.

"Y/N! Open the fucking door! Come on. I said I'm sorry," he yelled.

"Mate. I'm just gonna take her home, yeah? Maybe talk to her in the morning when you've both sobered up a bit?" Van said to him. It wasn't patronising and it wasn't aggressive. Anthony turned to him, angry.

"And what the fuck do you think you're playing at? Got my girlfriend on speed dial, do ya? Just ready to come flying in when she needs you?" Anthony spat. Van rolled his eyes and walked around the back of the car. Anthony followed.

"She called me. I'm her friend, so yeah, I'm going to come if she calls. Go home, Anthony. Sober up," Van said as he got in the car and locked the door. Anthony punched at the window as Van started the car. He checked to make sure he'd not run Anthony over, then drove away. You were breathing hard but had stopped yourself from crying again. Maybe you were just too tired to.

Van didn't ask what had happened and he didn't ask if you wanted to go home. Instead, he drove to his and lead you inside. He pulled you along to his room, where you crawled into his bed. Van tucked you in and kissed your forehead.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Easy, Y/N. Get some sleep, alright?"

You nodded and watched him walk from the room, closing the door behind him. For a while you listened to his hushed voice and Larry's but you couldn't keep yourself awake for long.

…

Van only needed a few hours of sleep, so he was usually up early. Therefore, his bedroom window lacked curtains and the sunlight woke you up. The daytime brought with it a freshness but counteracting that was the hangover from hell. You held your head and tried to go back to sleep. The room was too bright. Your head hurt too much. After ten minutes of agony, you got up and left the room.

Larry and Van were sitting in the kitchen, smoking and eating thick slices of toast. You pulled up a chair and rested your head on the table. Larry laughed.

"Learn from the pain, Y/N," he said. Van stood and poured you a cup of coffee, placing it in front of you with a box of painkillers. You swallowed three and closed your eyes. They kept talking for a while, then Larry excused himself to go start a load of washing. You were alone with Van and without needing to look you knew he was watching you.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I don't know," you answered.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You opened your eyes and sat up. "Nothing to talk about. Caught him fucking some girl in the alley behind the bar. So, that's that. I'll get my brother to go get my stuff that I left at his. It's fine," you said. Van thought for a moment.

"It's not fine. You should definitely be upset,"

"Think I got all that out last night," you joked. He nodded.

"Yeah. You were a mess, but… you loved him, and he-"

"I didn't love him. I would feel more now if I did. Right? I just feel… I don't know. It hurts… but, at the same time, I kind of knew something was wrong. I don't know. She was super pretty, so, you know," you said with a shrug. Van looked at you with a frown.

"Know what? It's okay for him to cheat if the girl is pretty?"

"No. That's not what I said. I just… I don't know, Van. It's fine. I'm fine,"

"It's not, but if you say so. And… You're pretty, okay? Like, he's a fuckin' idiot. Real fuckin' dumb. You're gorgeous and funny and smart and… He's just an idiot. I need you to know that."

He's just being a good person, a good friend, you had to remind yourself. You nodded at him across the table and took another big mouthful of coffee.

…

When all of your possessions were back in their place at yours and you'd blocked Anthony's number, it started to feel okay again. You didn't miss him. The cheating would take some time to work through because trust is a hard thing to master, but other than that you were okay. The girl he'd fucked even added you on Facebook. She messaged saying she had no idea he had a girlfriend and that she never would have slept with him if she'd did. You went out for coffee with her and talked shit in a therapeutic brunch session.

A couple of weeks later you were at a friend's when Van and Larry showed up. Van sat on the couch next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours.

"What's poppin?"

"Nothing. The usual. You?"

"Same. Home for a few more weeks, then heading over to the States. Should be good," he said.

Casual hangs with the guys were always comforting. You could sink into a couch, curl up and just watch their happy madness. They'd play music and argue about things that didn't really matter. They would make weird videos and smoke tobacco or dope or both. Before them, you never were that into cuddles and touches. But, they were so expressive with their love that you learnt to be too. Arms around shoulders and kisses to cheeks, they all meant love but they didn't mean in love. As Van's pulled you closer to him and you settled under his arm, you had to remind yourself of that.

Hours passed and someone ordered pizza and someone else mixed vile cocktails. You were drunk and happy and Van had your phone. "Some of these don't make no sense," he said with a frown as he watched his face on a baby's body dance.

"Here," you said, swiping over to find the cute ones.

Larry was on the floor in front of you and you were talking to him about Kendrick's new album when Van started to push his head against yours. You looked over. He didn't want your attention; he had the doggo filter on and was trying to work out how he could make it look like the digital tongue was licking you. He was a mess. A beautiful, happy mess. You showed him how to save photos and videos, even if he didn't send them.

It was late in the night and you had a moment of reflection. They happened in between the laughter and the chaos of life. When there was a lull in the soundtrack, when the lights dimmed only for a second. A teeny tiny speck of time that was enough to make the past seem good. A stupid nostalgia that lied and could only serve to hurt and misguide. You found a throw blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, disappearing out the front. You sat on the curb and listened to the quietness of the night.

You didn't hear Van follow you out; when he sat next to you, you jumped.

"Sorry," he said straight away. His voice was low.

Side by side, you didn't speak. Fog illuminated by streetlights. Glowing bedroom windows down the road. Hazy night sky. Your chipped nail polish. Van's worn boots. All of it warm and messy and heavy with symbolism and life. Like a Sofia Coppola dreamscape. A gust of wind came through. Van shivered and you moved to wrap the blanket around him too. The concrete sidewalk under you was cold and hard. Juxtaposed against Van, it made him seem more cosy than he probably was.

"You don't need to worry about me," you finally said. Van looked at you. His eyes flicked from feature to feature. He nodded and looked back down the street.

"I'm glad it happened," he said.

"You're glad he cheated on me?"

"No!" Van quickly said, looking back at you. "No. Course not. Never want you to feel bad. I'm glad you ain't seeing him anymore, s’what I mean. You're too good for him. Always have been,"

"I don't know. I don't miss him or anything but we were a good match. Mediocre, at best," you said. Van frowned; his eyebrows pulled together and he looked at you carefully. Slowly, his head started to shake.

"No. Nah, Y/N. You're… You're not the opening band, you know? You are the headlining act. Stadium gig. Whole country is there to see you. Got your family side of stage, grinning away. So fucking proud. Got your friends front row, screaming. You're it. Not mediocre," he replied. Van's metaphors were always hit and miss. That one hit alright and it did with such a force you thought maybe you'd start bleeding from the heart and the stomach and thighs and everywhere else his words ricocheted off.

"And where are you?"

"Babe. I am on Larry's shoulders, top off, yelling your name," he replied with a grin, waving around an invisible shirt about his head. You smiled and laughed.

Another gust of wind. You watched it carry leaves down the road. Someone in the house changed the record.

"We should go in," you said to him. He looked at you, licked his lips and nodded once.

…

"I need your help," Van said, even before a hello. It was too early in the morning for emergency phone calls. You did owe him though. 

"Yep. Anything. What's up?" you replied, swinging your legs out of bed. 

"I forgot shops don't open ‘till late today and I said I'll get a cake for mum. Cakes are your thing, yeah? Like. You made that ten layered one for Dani," 

"Four, but yeah. Yep. Want me to come to you or you me?"

"I'll come to you. See you in thirty." 

Van arrived in twenty-seven. He leant against the kitchen bench as you pulled out any ingredient that was at least semi-relevant to cakes and mostly within its use-by date. The brown sugar was a bit hard and you weren't sure where the imitation vanilla had even come from. You surveyed the assortment of food. 

"Okay... well... we can do something super basic but make it look pretty with colours and sprinkles and shit. Got loads of decorating stuff. Or, we can do a banana cake. Won't look as fancy, but the bananas are super ripe and we can spice it up with cinnamon and nutmeg and whatever else I have. Thoughts?" You looked over at Van. He was smiling and has his arms held open. "What?" you asked. 

"Come 'ere," he instructed. When you were in arms reach, he pulled you into a hug. "You're saving me here. I appreciate it so, so much," 

"It's fine," you replied, trying to push your way out of the hug. He wouldn't let go. "Van." Still not moving. He sniggered. "Van. Cake. Gotta start the cake." He let you go.

"Banana," he said. You weren't surprised. 

"Okay. Do you want to make it and I just direct you? That way you can tell Mary it's proper homemade. With love and everything," 

"Yeah! Okay. How hard is it to bake a cake?" 

The implication of that sentence was that he had never, in fact, baked one before. A sad thought for you, a proficient cake maker.

Van hit the side of the sifter too hard, and white flour puffed up onto his shirt and the bench. It snowed down onto the floor. He laughed and wiped some away but in the process managed to Simba himself a line across his head. You didn't tell him. He apologised for the mess. 

"I'd expect nothing less from you," you replied with a shrug. 

He creamed the butter and sugar together, and as the handheld mixer went too far up the side of the mixing bowl, the fluffy butter splattered across the kitchen backsplash. Van cackled with laughter again. You shook your head and handed him a bowl of beaten eggs. He combined it carefully, then added an ill-measured amount of milk. 

"Just a dash?" he asked about the vanilla. 

"Yeah. You don't want it to be the dominant flavour. A little goes a long way," you said. You looked over from where you were sorting through spices. He was a second away from free pouring. "Van! No! Use a measuring spoon!" Too late. At least a tablespoon of vanilla went in. He looked over at you. 

"Did I fuck it up?" 

You took the bowl from him and tried to scoop some out. "No. It will be fine," you replied. He ran a finger around the rim of the bowl, collecting a small amount of batter. He ran it along your cheekbone. You pushed him away from you, groaning. "Get a bowl. Mash up the bananas." 

You'd heard the disgusting sound of bananas being smooshed into pulp before, but somehow Van made it sound worse. Maybe it was his childish giggling at the squelching or the pauses between each press of the masher. 

"What does it sound like to you?" he asked. You didn't give him the satisfaction. 

"Carefully mix the banana with your butter," you instructed. 

"Gently? Gently mix this?" he asked as he made the wet, slick, sound again.

Too much baking powder would make the cake taste bitter, so you measured it out and added it to the sifted flour. Van couldn't be trusted. You let him fold the flour into the wet mix, and it was done! A heart shaped cake tin was somewhere in the back of the cupboard and Van liked the novelty of it. The timer was set. You both sat at the kitchen table with mugs of tea. Van was opposite you but slid across to be sitting on the chair next to yours. He put an arm on the table and rested his head on it. Blue eyes looking at you, then your hand, he reached out and held yours. Time got all trippy again. 

"I forgot the cinnamon," you whispered. It should have come out loudly and should have been followed by jumping up and quickly mixing spices through the batter before it started to cook. Instead, you were glued to the spot. The light weight of Van's fingers around your hand enough to anchor you. "I can… save it…" you added. Van didn't react. He didn't care about the cake. Slowly, you took your hand back and stood.

Mixing the spices with a little bit of hot water made the room fill with the smell of chai lattes and Christmas and warmth. You added it to the batter and returned the cake to the oven. Back to Van, you watched the heart shaped dish through the glowing window. 

"Y/N?"

"Yeah," you replied, still whispering. You catalogued all the sounds you could hear. Count them. Distract yourself. The electronic hum of the oven and the fridge. Your housemate's creepy antique clock in the living room, narrating time passing. The space between each second felt longer and longer the harder you listened. Muffled footsteps from the apartment above that used to keep you awake, but you'd habituated to since. Van's sharp intake of breath as he went to speak again.

"Y/N. How are you? Like, you seem better. About… Anthony and everything. You don't still think there's something wrong with you, do you?"

Count. Distract. You listed all the things you could smell. The cake, mostly. All the different parts of that. Washing up liquid. Instant coffee. You thought maybe you could even smell Van, cigarettes and musk and apple shampoo, but you were probably imagining it. You had to answer him.

"Yeah, I'm good," you said, and it wasn't a lie. It had been weeks and weeks since Van had picked you up in the dead of night, cold and lacking self-worth. Regardless of how hard you tried to not think it, your mind kept saying that Anthony's departure had left room for someone else. Someone else named Van, obviously. Someone named Van that you had logically assumed didn't have a crush on you back. You'd known him for so long that he would have said something, done something. The fact that he'd only ever known you while with Anthony though, didn't factor in when it really should have. The fact that you were the headlining act in the festival of Van's life didn't factor in when it really should have.

"Good. That's good. 'Cause, uh, I thought… I was thinking, if you wanted to…" There was a pause in his sentence and your body turned to face him, watch his face as he spoke. You leant back on the oven and it was warm and solid and comforting and stable. Van was sitting up straight and he looked at you as you turned. "Maybe we could go out to dinner or something?" He reached out for something to fidget with. The mixing bowl was on the table, and he started to scrape the remnants of the batter out with the spoon. "Go on a proper date," he finished the proposal, then put the spoon in his mouth to stop himself from saying anything else.

There were things that you couldn't see or smell or hear, so you couldn't catalogue or list them. Van's racing heart. His fear that he was making a mistake; asking you too soon after the breakup. The perfect pink rose that had bloomed in the unkempt garden out the front of his cottage that he'd spotted that morning. He'd cut it from the bush and put it on the front seat of his car. After five minutes of internal debating, he left it there, thinking it would be too much to show up with a rose for you. The body wash he'd used in the second shower of the morning. After the first Van decided he'd used too much aftershave and you'd notice. Little details you'd never pick up on that meant everything. Your mind had focused on Van's words alone, all the other things were ignored. He was asking you out.

Maybe only a second had ticked by since he finished his sentence. Maybe it was a full minute. Van took the spoon from his mouth and smiled as you slowly nodded your head in a yes.


End file.
